Page 53 of Operation Sunshine
It’s the one culinary skill that utterly defeats him, but because the request came from someone he loves, he’s determined to fix it.
The restaurant had been closed for two hours, when it became obvious the weather had put off a lot of potential customers. The front blinds were down, and the kitchen unusually quiet: only Raj and Ben were left, and Franco was upstairs on his laptop, claiming to be busy doing… something.
Exactly what occupied him was a mystery Ben was dying to solve, but right then he faced a more important task. He rolled up his sleeves, surveyed the counter full of flour, sugar, and eggs, and wondered if he’d made a mistake agreeing to this.
Raj stood beside him, his arms crossed, his expression somewhere between focus and mild dread. “We follow the recipe exactly,” he declared. “No improvising. No substitutions.”
Ben smirked. “You’re talking as if I’m the wildcard here.”
“You are,” Raj replied without missing a beat, and handed him a whisk.
They started well enough: flour measured, sugar poured, eggs cracked with only minimal shell casualties. But somewhere between “cream the butter” and “fold in gently,” things went sideways.
The batter looked suspiciously lumpy.
“Is it supposed to look like that?” Ben asked.
Raj peered into the bowl, frowning. “No. This looks like—” Hebroke off, muttering something in a foreign language that Ben suspected wasn’t complimentary.
Ben couldn’t help grinning. “Well, maybe it’s rustic.”
“It’s not rustic. It’s wrong.” Raj ran a hand over his face, sighing. “Thisis why I hate baking. Cooking, you taste and adjust. Baking is like committing to a relationship before the second date.”
That hit Ben harder than he expected, but he hid it by pouring the batter into a prepared tin. “Maybe you just need more practice.”
They slid it into the oven, then leaned against the counter while it baked, the kitchen slowly filling with a sweet scent.
Well, itsmellsokay.
Making chocolate icing proved incident-free, and Ben resisted the urge to dip his finger into the dark, glossy mixture.
When the timer finally pinged, they pulled out the tin to reveal… something. A sunken, slightly scorched lump of something.
Raj stared at it, deadpan. “I can already hear her. She’s going to call it structurally unsound again.”
Ben laughed, the sound echoing in the empty kitchen. “Maybe we get Franco to make the next one. You can ‘supervise.’”
Raj gave him a sideways look. “Oh yes, I’m sure he’d love that. And I’msurehe’d keep the teasing to a minimum.” He pulled his phone from his pocket.
“What are you looking for?”
Raj held his phone up, and Ben read aloud10 boxed cake mix hacks to make cake mix taste better.He let out a gasp. “You’re going tocheat?”
Raj’s eyes gleamed. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
Ben caught the sound of footsteps on the stairs, then the door creaked open, and as if they’d summoned him, Franco’s voice floated in. “What’s going on in here?” There was a messenger bag slung over one shoulder.
Raj groaned. “Perfect timing.”
Franco lowered the bag to the floor, then leaned on the counter,his gaze flicking between the sad cake and Ben’s flour-dusted shirt. “Ohhh,” he said slowly, his lips curling into a gleeful smile. “This is… domestic. I like it.”
Raj unfastened his apron, tossed it into the basket along with the towels and other aprons, and grabbed his hoodie from its hook next to the back door. “Okay, I’m done. You can deal with him.”
“But you don’t have a cake,” Ben observed. “Well, you do, but it’s—”
Raj picked up the burnt offering and tossed it into the trash. He rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll buy one.” And with that, he covered his head and stepped out into the wet night.
Leaving Ben to endure the inevitable barrage of Franco’s smirking commentary.
